


pancakes can wait

by Zofiecfield



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, One Shot, Pancakes, Short One Shot, Sleepy Cuddles, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zofiecfield/pseuds/Zofiecfield
Summary: Pancakes for breakfast, but pancakes can wait
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	pancakes can wait

It’s Saturday morning and the house is empty. Wynonna and Rachel left last night, driving across the triangle to follow up on a lead. You both stayed in, researched and theorized until darkness fell. 

Then the bed called and you were compelled to answer. 

Lips and teeth and fingertips exploring. So much time to make up for, you take every chance to hold her close. Reconnecting, body on body, skin to skin, until sleep took you.

You wake too early, constant vigilance not yet unlearned. Waverly is sleeping peacefully against you. You’re okay, intact and very much here. 

There’s work to be done today, the never-ending slog of preparation and tedium and terror. Some days each moment is its own minor battle to be fought, won.

But first there will be breakfast. You’ll make pancakes, because they make Waverly smile like she’s young and light, and you love that smile. You would do just about anything to see that smile.

But first...

Your eyes drift down her back, still bare from last night. The blankets have all migrated to the floor, and you could retrieve them, but the house is warm and the sun is filtering in. And to leave this bed right now, to turn away for a single moment, would be pure torture.

Fingertips light, you draw a line, nape of her neck, between the shoulder blades, down each vertebrae. Slowly, you continue on, over the flare of her pelvis, and across. You spread your palm over the warmth of her belly for a moment, and gently kiss a shoulder. 

From there, your fingertips continue, retracing their path, with detours across her ribcage, down an arm and each finger. You linger on the ring for a moment, before drifting your thumb across the soft inside of her wrist. 

She stirs, but only slightly. You want her to wake, your partner and playmate, but it would be a terrible shame to rush this. You still for a moment, then continue on your way.

You travel the winding road across her temple, down behind an ear, and along the hairline. Your hand can’t help but slide into her hair, sleep mussed and beckoning. You soothe the scalp with gentle circles and then move on. 

This time, as you drift down her back, you feel her breathing pick up, subtle but certainly so. Don’t rush it, make this last. You lift your fingertips from the surface and she shifts towards you, seeking. Patience.

Hovering just above the skin, you journey over her ribs and land just below the breast, tracing a slow path along the underside and up the slope. You settle into a leisurely pace around the nipple, as it peaks and peaks and peaks in response.

Still not quite awake, she arches slightly into your hand. Her hair falls away from that spot on her neck and you brush your lips across it, fingers still at their work. 

Her earlobe offers itself next. You kiss it and then, in a moment of impulse, bite. It’s just a nibble, sucked into your mouth and welcomed by teeth. But her next breaths are a new pitch, and her heartbeat is hustling to meet you, as yours gallops in your chest. 

Excited and rapidly tiring of patience.

 _Tired_ of patience.

Your lips drift to her shoulder as fingertips leave their homeland and make a sure path down her chest, down her belly, and across the pelvis, coming to rest on the inside of her thigh. There, you slow yourself again. Enjoy the smoothness, the warmth, the valleys and plains of her.

You make several passes, slow and each with its diversions, and with each you come closer. But not yet, you can wait another moment.

But she cannot. Awake now, brain pleasantly fogged and buzzing from your wandering hands. She twists quickly and kisses you hard. 

You are, for a moment, distracted. Your hand is caught off guard and it loses its target, landing on one hip and pulling her back against you. 

But then her hand is in your hair, nails scraping a delightful path against your scalp, and you remember what you’d been working on.

You shift, pinning one hip down with your leg. A soft restraint and she pushes against you, already moaning as your lips find her neck. Your fingertips drift down her belly, and then farther, finding her slick and well past ready.

She arches and cries out at the contact, and gods, you could do this all day. 

Slow circles, speeding up. Finish what you started and start again.

Pancakes can wait.


End file.
